10
I see the next few minutes in flashes. Wray slumps to the side as people start screaming. The King is laughing, throwing the sword to the floor in disdain and then strolling back towards the stairs. I hear movement as a handful of Kingsmen swarm and then the Minister Prime is saying something. There are words such as ‘calm’ and ‘move’ but I’m not even sure they are complete sentences. Instead, I just see Wray’s dead, frightened eyes asking for an answer I can’t give him.
I am vaguely aware of being in a line of people trooping through the corridors at speed before I find myself back in the dormitory. I sit on my bed as no one dares speak. Instead, we stare at each other, using each other’s shock as a reminder that what we have just seen actually happened. Some of the girls take off their dresses, trying unsuccessfully to wipe away the spatters of blood as I look down to notice reddened darker spots on the material of mine. I remember the feeling of something hitting my face and lick my fingers, scrubbing at my skin in an effort to wipe away what I think is there.
It is hard to know what is the more shocking: that poor Wray is dead, or that our King – the person we have grown up idolising – could have stabbed him so callously.
In a blink, I understand what the word ‘Offering’ means: we are exactly that, free for the King to do what he wants with. Whether he puts us to work, or skewers us through a chair, we are his.
In the bathroom, I hear somebody being sick and wonder if it is the physical shock of what we have seen, or if she has come to the same realisation I have.
As my senses return and the room drifts into focus I stand and walk around, trying the door once more and examining the windows. As before, we are locked in and I know this will be the way I have to get used to living.
I can’t help but think of Colt and my mother and feel relieved they are not a part of this. Then I remember the way Wray told me that being chosen as an Offering was the proudest moment of his mother’s life. There is a lump in my throat but I force myself to swallow it, desperate not to show any emotion in front of the strangers around me.
People are beginning to find their voices but we still seem to be split along our selection lines. The eight Elites are at the far end of the room from me, while I have managed to take the bed with the most space around it. The Trog, Faith, is by herself on the bed in the corner closest to me, so I walk across and ask if she is okay. She seems grateful that someone has acknowledged her. Wray was also a Trog and so she must be wondering if that was why he was killed. I try to reassure her, although I have no idea.
Faith explains that she has been ill recently, seemingly desperate to convince me there is a good reason why she is a Trog. I tell her I understand. The truth is it really doesn’t matter what you are if the King you have grown up being told to worship can do such a thing.
Faith is short with untidy blonde hair and an ill-fitting dress which clings to her unflatteringly. She is desperate to understand something that to me is senseless, insisting the King must have been confused or ill, or any number of other arguments which don’t stand up to what we all saw.
The chattering stops instantly as the door unlocks with a heavy clunk. Some of the girls are only partially dressed and, as they reach for towels or clothes to cover themselves, it feels as if we are all holding our breath. None of us knows what to expect as Ignacia sweeps in, still wearing the green gown. She stands in the doorway, looking around the room, before drawing herself up as straight as she can to address us.
‘Hello, ladies,’ she says, glancing from side to side, trying to engage us all. ‘I just wanted to apologise for the … accident earlier on. Hopefully you can all stay calm about things.’ She pauses and rocks back on her heels as if expecting somebody to reply. As if her calling Wray’s death an ‘accident’ makes it one. I’m not sure she even believes what she’s saying. She certainly doesn’t hold the authority the Minister Prime has, her eyes darting back and forth looking for a confirmation that doesn’t come.
‘I do have another reason for being here,’ she adds. ‘Which one of you was wearing a silvery dress earlier? It was quite long, apparently.’
She peers from side to side, waiting for someone to own up but nobody does. Given the fact we are still in shock from what we witnessed in the hall, it is unsurprising.
Ignacia frowns as she is forced to start looking around the room a second time. She discounts me as I still have on my purple dress, while Faith probably isn’t the shape she is looking for. As she turns towards the Elite end of the room, the girls move stealthily to one side, revealing Jela, who is sitting on her bed in her underwear and a towel. Her long blonde hair is wet and the way she is wrapped in the material makes her appear tiny and vulnerable.
‘Was it you?’ Ignacia asks, stepping towards Jela, who nods but seems confused.
‘Where is the dress?’
Jela nods towards the wardrobe next to the bed. ‘It’s got blood on it,’ she adds quickly.
‘The King has requested your presence this evening,’ Ignacia says firmly, indicating towards the wardrobe. ‘He requested you wear that dress specifically.’
Jela looks sideways at Pietra on the adjacent bed but the other Elite says nothing, instead pulling the bed covers around herself.
‘What does he want with her?’ I find myself saying. My voice echoes around the room as everyone turns to look at me. Ignacia studies me too, her head cocked at an angle, before she purses her lips and finally speaks.
‘He has requested that she visit his quarters.’
‘Will she be coming back?’ I ask, although it sounds like someone else’s voice.
Ignacia doesn’t reply instantly and it feels as if she doesn’t know the answer.
‘Probably not tonight,’ is all she can eventually add but the three words make it clear to us all that we are in the middle of a dangerous game. If we don’t play, we end up like Wray; if we do then Jela’s fate may well be ours too.
Either way, as Jela’s soft sobs reverberate around the room, no one is in any doubt that there is a very good reason why nobody ever sees the Offerings again.